Vunerable
by TheEvilBunny
Summary: When an arguement between Draco and Hermione doesn't turn out the way they thought it would, they'll find that being vunerable is not as awful as it seems. DracoHermione OneShot


It came as soon as he opened his mouth to say something; and when it did, it came HARD

It came as soon as he opened his mouth to say something again; and when it did, it came HARD.

Her widely spread palm came in contact with the pale skin on his cheek, erasing the smirk plastered on the edge of his lips.

Tears were now falling from her eyes— a sight he thought he'd never see.

Though he insulted her more often than necessary, and he pushed her down more than he did everybody else; he was fairly certain that she would never break down.

But then again, even Malfoys made mistakes. Right now, he wasn't just poking at her, he pushed her off the edge, and it was too late to go back.

She pointed a shaking finger to his face as he turned back to face her. The glint of mischief in his grey eyes disappeared, and was almost immediately replaced with hate.

"I AM **SICK** AND **TIRED** OF YOU PICKING ON ME ALL THE TIME!!" She said, with a quiver in her voice. "YOU CAN GO AHEAD AND INSULT ME AND TEAR ME DOWN, BUT IF YOU EVER INSULT MY FAMILY AGAIN, I AM GOING TO—"

"What, Granger, what are you going to do?" He challenged, the smirk coming back to his lips. The calmness in his voice sent shivers down her spine. She hated that he could see her weakness, and she vowed to herself that she would never let that happen again.

She opened her mouth to speak, but instead, took in many sharp breaths. _What was she going to do? Threaten __**the**__ Draco Malfoy? As if that would do any good._

She swallowed as he moved closer to her, and she found herself backing away. Her back finally pressed against the cold stone walls of the hallway. She took one last glance at the mischievous expression on Draco's face moving toward her before she shut her eyes and turned away, bracing herself for the amount of pain that was about to come.

She imagined his fist coming toward her face, of his fingers pulling at her hair; but it never came.

Instead, she felt his cold breath on her neck as he leaned closer to whisper to her ear.

The feeling was incredibly alien to her. Her stomach lurched, and her throat was dry. She licked her lips, opening her eyes to catch sight of his golden hair.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he turned to walk away with a soft chuckle, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his uniform.

"You're still just a _filthy mudblood_," he muttered loudly enough for only the two of them to hear. It slurred from his mouth, and it tasted sweet. He didn't even look back at her, he didn't see the expression of fear on her face falter a bit, and he didn't see her face harden with disgust.

She chuckled dryly. "So what if I'm a mudblood?" she paused. "At least I'm not a _**Malfoy**_."

He stopped in his tracks. That was beyond name-calling. She insulted his family, his name, and she took away his Malfoy pride. She said it like it was the most unfortunate thing in the world, like being a Malfoy was such a dishonor— and she honestly believed it was.

"Yeah, that's right, _**Malfoy**_," she insinuated, saying his name like venom slurring down her lips with disgust. Her voice was still quivering, her teeth were gritted and she was so unsure if she should continue. She tried her best to hide her insecurities. "At least I'm not a **bloody. Spoiled. git**."

"Shut up," he muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth.

"It must be so unfortunate to be a **death eater**," tears were still falling down her eyes, and her voice was still dry from fear.

"Shut up," he said, louder, this time

"…a follower to the most **HATED** wizard in the whole world…" she pressed on, amused by the expression on his face as he finally turned to her.

"I SAID 'SHUT UP!'" His fingers curled to a fist, ready to place a blow on her arrogantly cocked chin.

"…At least my **father isn't in Azkaban**," She finished, fairly pleased with herself. Saying those things was beneath her, but he surely deserved it. With every insult, she found her stomach flutter with regret. She promised herself that she would never sink to his level; she promised herself that she would never hurt people like he did— but it was too late for that.

"**SHUT UP**!!" he shouted, finally bringing his fist toward her.

It came so fast that she didn't have time to think. Her eyes widened with fear. She held her breath for what seemed like the longest two seconds of her life.

For a second, her vision was blurred and dark. She could barely see his fist coming toward her— and she surely couldn't see the tears almost stinging his eyes.

If she looked at his face right there and then, she would see sixteen years worth of hate— not for mudbloods and blood traitors, but for that one person who ruined his life. If she could see his face, she would have known by now that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with his father. If she took a few seconds to notice the expression of hate in his face, she would have seen the Draco that nobody had ever seen before.

It would have taken a few seconds for all of that, and (possibly— if they didn't live in a world of cruelty and hate) something much deeper than just a change of perspective.

Many believed it too. Many say that in an alternate universe where blood is not of the essence, the two could have been lovers.

His fist made contact with the stoned wall a few inches away from her face. Blood droplets trickled down his knuckles.

He thought for a second of bringing it back to place a blow on her eyebrow, but caught sight of her cherry lips and imagined a much more satisfying notion— something to shut that bloody bitch up.

He took his fist from the stone wall, and stretched it out on the back of her neck. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and leaned in.

"Malfoy, I didn't mean—"

She gasped as soon as his lips came in contact with hers. She didn't shift her body, she didn't move. She stayed like that for a moment, letting herself succumb to her greatest desires (one she never even knew she had). She parted her lips as his tongue begged for entry, rushing in with no hesitation.

The kiss was more forceful that necessary, and he found himself wanting more. She didn't taste the way he thought she would. He imagined the prickly, peppery taste that stung like hell; but it was absolutely nothing like that.

She was sweet. Oh, so sweet. A magnificent blend of strawberries and vanilla, and a little bit of champagne as well.

Her body was burning with heat, and her heart was pounding in her ears. She wondered if he could feel her heart beating against his chest, or if he could sense the blood rushing through her veins.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a light palm on his cheek.

The kiss tasted like sadness on a cold, rainy day; and he tasted like sixteen years of misery.

He cursed under his breath when he changed the angle of his kisses. He never thought it would end up like this. He was becoming a blood traitor, and, even worse, a Malfoy traitor.

He pulled her closer, and the skin where he touched her felt like it was on fire. She was surprised to find that what she imagined was flawless and soft was actually rough and tattered. Little Draco Malfoy was broken, and there was no one to fix him up.

He hated that she pushed him to his limits, he hated that she made him so vulnerable, so susceptible to pain and heartbreak. He hated that she made him human again. He hated that she showed him that he was no longer the god he thought he was. He was now just Draco Malfoy— a teenage boy with teenage feelings and a teenage life.

She loosened her arm around his neck, and let them fall limply to her sides. She leaned against the wall, as he planted one last (forceful) kiss on the edge of her lips.

The silence in the air sent shivers down their spines. They avoided each other's eyes, trying desperately to keep their lips away from each other. They took in sharp breaths, their lips slightly parted from shock.

He still had his arm around her waist as he was looking away, the tears stinging his eyes again.

She held back sobs as she let the tears fall freely. Her lip was trembling, and she almost lifted a hand to keep it steady, but she didn't.

He loosened his grasp around her waist, avoiding her eyes, and keeping his on the cold stone floor.

He walked away with humility, head bowed, and shaking. He didn't mutter, he didn't cry, he didn't scream, he simply walked away.

Hermione fell to her knees, cupping her mouth. Her sobs were restrained, but her tears were pouring out of her eyes. Her sobs echoed in Draco's ears, even when he got far enough to drain them out.

She sobbed in disbelief— perhaps she had been mistaken. Draco Malfoy was no Malfoy— he was no bloody git, he was no death eater, he was no follower, and he was definitely nothing like his father— and she found herself comforted by that notion.

That night, she had more than just a change of perspective, and she found more than just Draco's weaknesses. That night, she found _**Draco Malfoy**_; and she cried at the thought of him disappearing again.

_--_

_Tell me, tell me_

_What makes you think that you are invincible?_

_I can see it in your eyes that you're so sure_

_Please don't tell me_

_That I'm the only one that's vulnerable_

_Impossible._

_--_


End file.
